Pilgrim of the Darkmoon
by Ultima XXI
Summary: A story of abandonment, perseverance, and faith throughout the world of Lordran. Based on the Lady of the Darkling before she becomes known as the Darkmoon Knightess. [Hopefully weekly updated; Unsure of pairing at the moment; R&R please!]
1. Prologue

**Pilgrim of the Darkmoon**

_Prologue_

The halls of the chapel basement were rather quiet save for the methodical footsteps nearing the far end of the Tomb of Lord Gwyn. The steps of Gwynevere were soft pats, and the sound of her bare feet slapping stone was drowned out by Flann's metal boots colliding with the floor. The sound agitated Gwyndolin, who sat in a chair beside his father's tomb awaiting Gwynevere and her husband.

Only the light of Anor Londo's eternal sun shone through the tall, narrow windows, paneled expertly and clear as crystal. In the luminance at the end of the long hall, Lord Gwyn's tomb imposed itself upon the rest of the room, almost empty beside's Gwyndolin's chair and a stone dais in front of the tomb. Atop the stone vault, a single bundle of flowers feebly decorated its blank face.

The princess Gwynevere held onto her husband's arm tightly, sobbing gently into a white handkerchief, laced with gold. Gwyndolin himself was on the verge of tears as the two finally stood before him.

"Gwynevere… Thou needn't departest."

"Oh, Gwyndolin. Sweet brother; when will thou seest that nothing remains in Anor Londo? It taketh mine leaving, I think."

"Thou art wrong. The legacy of Gwyn remains. I will restore his glory to this place, whether thou -" The god's voice quivered and he stopped speaking. His sun crown, worn in honor of his father, shook atop his head. The snakes beneath him writhed and hissed in frustration.

"My sweet… come with us. Together, we might abandon these sour souvenirs of our past. To stay is only to remindeth thyself of thy past troubles." Gwynevere reached for Gwyndolin's shoulder to comfort him. As she did so, her glowing white robes fell from her arm and hung at her side.

"No!" Gwyndolin shouted. "I'll not accompany you and this flaming, barbarous wretch! If thou are to leave, doeth so now! Begone!"

Gwynevere fell back. Her face was fearful and grief-stricken. She sobbed into her handkerchief again.

"O, father…"

Flann's eyes bore into Gwyndolin's mask. Underneath it, the Dark Sun's mouth was a hard, unyielding line of defiance. It gave no clues to the torment he felt tearing at his insides.

In a moment, Gwynevere and Flann glowed with a pair of golden sigils, and then disappeared.

There was a long period of silence in the tomb. Gwyndolin took a deep breath and drew his catalyst. Suddenly, shouting like a call of thunder, he sent dozens of soul masses around the room. Each of them collided with the stone walls around him, though they all curved around Lord Gwyn's coffin. Large bricks tumbled from their fixtures in the walls and crumbled to dust on the cold floor. Sunlight shone through the hollows that remained.

Gwyndolin disappeared from the tomb and reappeared in Anor Londo's central chapel. Smough sat on the floor behind a column of stone, using a piece of cloth to polish his hammer. His sickly-colored armor looked dull in the otherwise illuminated chapel hall. Though Gwyndolin's appearance created a crystalline ringing sound through the room, Smough ignored him.

Ornstein's lion head peeked from behind the stone balcony, his spear standing several inches above him. The knight grunted, dropped from the balcony to the ground floor, and slowly strutted from the chapel.

Gwyndolin glided through the air to Ornstein's balcony. The serpents below him reached and slithered for solid ground. He presently stood before a set of double doors made of gleaming, sleek metal. A small sun adorned the center of each door, another symbol of Gwyn himself.

The doors opened before Gwyndolin. They revealed a gold-laced red rug draping an enormous dais that made up most of the room. On the dais, a settee of pure gold framing and blood red cushions towered several times too large for any human or even Gwyndolin.

"I shall keep you here yet, dear sister," the god said before kneeling to pray.


	2. Chapter I

[ AN: It may be prudent to note that this story is taking place some time (several years) before the Chosen Undead arrives in Lordran. Just to let you all know. Thanks for reading! ]

_Chapter I_

A young woman stood atop a great crag, the green foliage of Thorolund below her. Oh, how she had longed to visit Thorolund. The wind cut between her messy strands of brown, hair. Below her, trees rustled as swarms of songbirds circled her, filling the air with their melodic chants. She wore extraordinary silk garments that only covered what needed to be covered, and nothing more.

_This is freedom,_ she thought.

She lay down on the crag and took to sleep.

Moments later, she felt an unnerving lurch. Her eyes flitted open, and she found herself staring at an overcast sky, the scent of rotting flesh permeating her nostrils. Thorolund was a dream, she realized, and she instinctively knew where she was at. The creaking of the boat gave it away, if not the two pairs of hands that held her wrists and ankles, suspending her in midair.

"_Put me down!_" She didn't know why she thought they would listen.

"You undead cur! Stop squirming!" The man holding her wrists tightened his grip, causing the woman to cry out in distress.

The boat creaked and lurched once more. Then it thudded against something hard, but the girl was struggling too hard to see what. Suddenly, the two men swung her like a pendulum - "1… 2… 3…" - and released her. She dropped from the side of the boat, her stomach seeming to fall faster than the rest of her. She found herself in a pile of something like a mass of flesh and bone, some parts spongier than others. She opened her eyes again and saw faces, limbs, and torsos beneath her, all at different stages of decomposition. Some of the corpses still contained blood in small, pussy pools, while others looked as though they had been deposited just hours ago. Her frantic motions caused the disgusting mass to squirm with her, seeming to give it life.

The woman let out a horrendous shriek. It was partially drowned out by her chokes for air; the bodies emitted an odor so gruesome that it burned her eyes and made them smart. A few strands of her straggly hair, after having lain on the mass of death, deposited some of the decaying matter in her mouth, gagging her beyond control.

She finally regained her wits, and scrambled to get off the pile of bodies. Her feet searched for something hard other than bone for several seconds before she finally found stone. She pushed herself away from the blood and grime, though carrying some of it with her.

The young woman was sobbing now, sprawled upon the ground, beating it with a fist. The rags that clothed her were torn, having caught on limbs in the disgusting pile of bodies. Blood soaked the entire front side of her, where her body had faced on the lump.

When she finally could cry no more, she looked up and around, still panting heavily. She was on a stone dock, most of it covered by the pile of bodies. She was clearly on an island, as the water around her stretched on for miles away from her. The dock stood several feet above the surface of the ocean, so it might not have been possible to get back up if she went in to cleanse herself. Behind her, a giant doorway led to a small room, lit only by the overcast above. The room belonged to a giant castle built upon mossy rocks that the water splashed upon, occasionally spraying her with chilly beads of water. With nowhere else to go, she stood and entered the fortification.

The room was all stone, only a pair of wooden double doors adorning a single wall. The lady tried the door, but it seemed to be barred shut. She sighed shakily and sank against a wall.

There she whimpered for several more minutes. _Where am I?_ she wondered. The last she knew, she was at home with her family in Carim. She could have been kidnapped, she supposed. But what good would kidnapping a girl do if she were to be left on an island to die?

Her thought was broken by a movement in the mass of bodies. Alert, she stood and clutched her side. There, she found a dagger that she regularly carried. She drew it, and stood ready.

Suddenly a hollow burst out from underneath two or three bodies, all of which were deposited into the sea. The hollow ran directly at the girl, a gurgling sound filling its throat and menace in its eyes. The girl panicked and dashed to one side. It was a feeble move, and the hollow tackled her. Above her, it grasped her neck. The girl beat on the undead's wrist, but when the hollow squeezed, she lost all control of her muscles. She went limp, and helplessly accepted her perish.

Looking into the hollow's unseeing eyes, she saw her own reflection. Her mousy brown hair was sprawled out as a sun on the floor around her head. The pointed features of her nose and lips were tainted as they turned blue and her tongue stuck out between them.

A crashing sound filled the room. Heavy metal footsteps grew closer, and the tip of a sword impaled the hollow's torso, halting inches above the girl's own breast. The pressure of the hollow's grip slackened immediately, and the girl sucked in air gratuitously. Her dagger, which had been thrown helplessly to one side of her, was in her hand in moments. When she had retrieved it, she turned to see the daunting, towering figure of a black knight that she had only ever seen crudely depicted in drawings before.

She gasped and ducked. Her eyes flitted to the now open wooden doors as a black greatsword swung above her. The woman jumped and took off for the exit. In the next hallway, she took a right. A red painted grate covered an exit to the outside at the end of the corridor. She ran up to it and pushed. It did not yield. She turned to try the left, but the knight had already entered the hall.

It sprinted toward her, sword raised. She ducked once more and the knight's weapon crested and struck the red gate. It swung off its hinges and released the woman from her trap. Entering it, she found herself in a courtyard.

She only made it halfway across the grass before she tripped in her panic. She could not get up in time. The knight was nearing her, only yards away now. Its leisurely prowl was a menacing game at this point.

Tears rolled down the girl's cheeks, obscuring her vision, until the overcast sky was darkened by a second figure looming above her.

"M'lady," said a kind male voice.


	3. Chapter II

[ AN: ALSO it may be especially prudent to note that this story is mostly based on lore from the game. Look up a few things about the Darkmoon Knightess (my favorite character) and you might start to see where the story is going! P.S., when I name the Lady of the Darkling in this chapter, I'm just making up a name since the game does not provide one. If it sucks, please tell me in the reviews. It would be a huge help. Thanks! ]

_Chapter II_

The voice sent a painful jolt of fright through the woman's body. Her eyes flitted from the black knight, who had halted his advance, to the new figure who stood above her.

A man whose appearance could only be described as goofy stood above her. His hair was chopped clumsily to look like an onion, making his head seem much bigger than it was. The strands were a blonde that was more yellow than white. His nose was rather larger than even his head _with _the huge hair would allow. His lips were turned to create a seemingly perpetual smug grin. All around, he was a man of very awkward appearance.

The girl covered in drying blood and lying in the dirt scrambled backwards to put the stranger between the black knight and herself. The man was clad in a gray plateskirt and chestplate and held a mace at his side. The girl could see that he had a kite shield of some sort in his left hand.

The knight turned his attention to the man, who promptly placed his mace in the right hand. The two stared one another down for several moments. The knight moved first, thrusting its greatsword. The man hopped to the right, having read the other's movements with impeccable scrutiny. The knight withdrew and raised the great black shield. The man followed suit, and they remained with their guards up for some time more.

The woman's heart pounded in her chest, and she briefly wondered why she did not run before one of them was killed. If the strange man were to win, however, it would seem awfully rude for her to have abandoned him.

The man lowered his shield, obviously baiting his opponent. The knight, however, seemed absolutely instinctive in its tactics, and took the chance. It crested the sword above its head, catching the man's shield as he raised it again. The man connected with the side of the sword, easily disbalancing the knight and casting its greatsword to the ground. As it was disabled, the spiked mace soared through the air into the knight's helm. Several spikes screeched and they pierced the black metal and slid almost immediately back out.

The knight was now upright again, twitching with an inhuman fury. It swung horizontally, up vertically, and then diagonally. Its enemy deflected each blow with his shield, though each time he sank closer the ground; the knight's power was truly incredible.

When the knight finished its barrage, it was swaying unsurely from side to side. The man slammed his mace into the knight's waist, felling it to its knees, and then into its head. The knight fell back, sprawling on the floor like a star. In seconds, it and its weapons dissolved into souls, each one rushing into the strange man's chest.

On the ground, the woman panted heavily with excitement. The stranger kneeled to pray, and a golden sigil underneath him traced yellow tendrils of light around his arms which probably ached from the repeated bashing of the knight.

When he stood again, he spoke, "Good day, m'lady."

"Good day." Despite all that had happened, the girl would try to retain her manners.

"I apologize for the sorry state we meet in." His grin grew wider, but remained conceited as it did so. "I am called Petrus of Thorolund. I come here from Lordran in search of… well, that doesn't matter. Have you been deserted here?"

The woman hesitated. "Yes."

"Then, we might as well be off together. And your name is what?"

"I'm sorry -"

"'I'm sorry?' What kind of a name is that?"

The woman was slightly offended. "I mean to say, I do not know what's happening. Could you please explain where we are?"

"This is the Northern Undead Asylum. You, I assume, were stranded here for being a burden to the living in your homeland, wherever that may be. Now, what is your name, once more?"

"Aleida."

"And you're from where?"

"Carim."

"Aleida of Carim! See, I knew 'I'm sorry' was a faulty name from the start!" Petrus chuckled, clutching his belly with a hand.

Aleida cocked her head and blinked incredulously. She wanted to laugh, but her sense of confusion was greater. This man had just saved her from a black knight and was now giggling about a social misunderstanding. "Who are you?"

"I've told you, I am Petrus. I hale from Thorolund."

The conflict inside Aleida's mind was ripping her in two. The first half firmly believed that this man, Petrus, was insane, and would probably kill her at the first chance. The other held that she would probably die without any help; in an undead asylum with no viable weapon or combat skills, she could not hold out for long. She had, before Petrus saved her, almost been killed by a black knight and a hollow, after all.

Then, there _was_ the point that he had spared her life - she, who Petrus had never met before. Aleida considered that there may be some merit in this eccentric, ugly man.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I have been unsuccessful in my task here. I'm off to somewhere else." There was a short pause. Clearly, Petrus was considering something as well. "If you might accompany me, I'd be more than happy to indulge you."

In a bout of frustration, Aleida finally answered, "Yes, I shall go with you. To Lordran, you say?"


	4. Chapter III

[ AN: I do not have Dark Souls DLC and don't really intend on playing it since 2 is coming out so soon, so there will be no characters/places/etc. from AotA. Sorry, guys! ]

_Chapter 3_

The alliance between the man Petrus and the woman Aleida was fragile, awkward, and cold, to say the least.

Neither knew anything about the other, and thus their motives remained obscure. Aleida had decided internally that as soon as she made her way to Lordran she would desert Petrus and find a way back to Carim. Her companion seemed able to fend for himself, so he would do well to be without her, she thought.

The two silently walked from the square courtyard where feeble patches of grass grew in the dirt, surrounded by a stone walkway. Through the double doors they entered a kind of open-air corridor. There was no roof, and a balcony adorned the wall above the opposite door. A row of dirty white columns lined either side of area. It almost looked as if it were originally meant to be a cathedral, but had fallen into disrepair over time.

As they crossed the corridor, Aleida stayed several yards from Petrus, so as not to be caught unawares. The measure was quite obvious and merited some suspicious looks from Petrus, but Aleida deemed it necessary. Under her sleeve, her hand was curled to keep in place her dagger. She was rather shaken, and her hand twitched uncontrollably, sometimes causing her to nick herself on the forearm.

The double doors at the other end of the courtyard were already ajar.

"Oops," Petrus said, "I suppose I forgot to close them."

On the other side, they stood atop a great crag that overlooked massive mountains. It seemed as though they had crossed a portal to arrive there, as several hundred yards behind them was the ocean that Aleida had arrived on.

They walked up the staircase cut into the crag, and at the very zenith, the stone dropped hundreds of feet to great snow-topped mountains and the valleys cut by rivers between them.

Petrus kneeled, lie down on his side, and assumed a tight fetal position. It was several painfully queer moments before Aleida got the courage to question it.

"What are you doing?"

"Aha! Oh, well, you _wouldn't_ know, would you? Being from _Carim_ and all."

"Know what?"

"Well, to get to Lordran from here, a giant crow arrives every hour to transport travelers. I believe we have arrived be on time for the ferry. So, get down and curl up!" Petrus resumed his tightly curled ball position.

Aleida simply stood and looked on, waiting for something to happen. She could not place her faith in this man, who believed in a giant crow who would carry the two of them to a place she seldom knew of. However, her sense of betrayal from her former family in Carim was already growing at a rapid pace, which may have clouded her judgement to a degree; Petrus _had_ saved her life. Alas, if somebody had told her that, she never would have heeded it.

Several long minutes passed, Aleida standing over Petrus with her arms crossed. A great rushing sound, as an arrow soaring from the string of a bow, carried itself seemingly from below the crag. In moments, a mass of silky black appeared as a silhouette against the sky. Its form twisted and changed until Aleida could focus to find a giant crow hovering above her. Instinctively, she crouched to cover her head from harm.

In response, the crow lifted Petrus and Aleida (with a slight scream and struggle) and soared away from the crag of the asylum.

From the bottom of the bird, Petrus and Aleida could see for miles above the great mountains that, from the great height at which they traveled, seemed to pale in comparison with the size of the crow. The crisp air of the north nipped at Aleida's cheeks painfully. Below, smaller birds could be seen flying much closer to the mountain tops, apparently limited in altitude by their smaller size.

Within the talon, Aleida found herself in an uncomfortable position; the fleshy cage that surrounded her crushed her knees into her chest. Without thinking, she pushed against the bird's talons to loosen its grip and gain some space.

The bird's grip did slacken, to the point that Aleida felt herself slipping from the safety of the talons. She let out a terrified cry, and her eyes watered almost instantly. At the speed the bird was travelling, she was amazed that the thing's talon was able to catch her by the ragged cloth that covered her. Her stomach was still falling, it seemed, and whimpers escaped her lips.

"What is it?" Petrus called?

Aleida could not answer. She was thinking too hard about how to retrieve herself. She faced away from the safety of the closed, four-pronged talon. She would need to swiftly turn and grip the bird's claw. Her thin clothing was slowly ripping, several threads giving way every second.

She acted quickly; turning first, she raised her arm straight up, closing her hand to grasp nothing. As her single piece of clothing was ripped in two, she frantically cast her other arm up, and barely grasped a rough talon. Her shoulder felt loose and sore from the sudden jolt. Her first hand was tossed up to relieve some of the weight. Aleida was now hanging nude from the bird's feet. Her tattered clothing had fallen away when she turned in the crow's grip. The nearly arctic wind took hold of Aleida's body, reaching places it had partially been restricted from before. The only warm part of her was her face, which was turned from the direction in which she traveled, rushing blood dying her cheeks as a rose. The cold was torturous, and she remorsed violently at the situation.

"Petrus… I beg of you, do not look at me." Only a few yards away, she would have been surprised if the man had _not_ noticed yet.

"Ah… Yes, m'lady."

Had he seen her? His response seemed so hesitant that Aleida could not help but think so. More tears tracked her face. She shivered tumultuously and feared losing hold of the crow.

"Petrus, I can't hold on!"

"M'lady, Lordran is in sight. We will land in just moments! Do not let go."

Aleida's muscles were already too ravaged. With a cry, Aleida forced herself to release. She fell for less than a second and collided with tough dirt under cutting grass.

"M'lady!"

Petrus was standing above her when she opened her eyes. Her head had hit the ground particularly hard, and the base of her neck ached.

When she remembered her nudity, she quickly recoiled and curled into a fetal position. "Do not look at me, I said!"

"But m'lady, you need healing!"

"I will survive."

"If it be your wish. At least, however, take a seat at this bonfire. I will rest elsewhere."

Aleida turned. She found herself in a place best described as a ruin. Walls of broken stone that seemed to originally constitute a building stood all around her, especially dividing the ground she lay on and the cliff that she could not see over. Stairs led down the side of the cliff, though nor could she see down them. A small set of steps led to what may have been a former room. Just in front of her, where Petrus had stood moments ago, several circular levels of steps led to a sword lodged in the stone, surrounded by twigs and flame. Several feet away, a single tree stood near one of the stone walls dropping to the cliff. The cold on the ground was more bearable than in the sky, but Aleida's bareness still caused discomfort.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Petrus retreating behind the tree to grant her some relief.


	5. Chapter IV

[ AN: I know things look a little dicey at this point in the story, but no, there will not be smut. Sorry. ]

[ Unless it would get me attention. In which case smut smut smut smut smut smut smut smut. ]

_Chapter 4_

Aleida tried many different position in front of the crisp, warm bonfire to cover her bareness. No matter which way she turned her legs or her torso, either her breasts or lower body was simply exposed, giving her the most intense feeling of vulnerability that she had ever felt. She even tried to protect herself from the crow's vantage point high above them atop the ruins. She gave herself no reprieve to think rationally about the situation; she would not consider for a second that nudity paled in comparison to the tantamount issues of mortal danger around her, like being attacked by a Black Knight. Her instincts nearly drove her mad until Petrus spoke, making her jump.

"M'lady, I think you are in need of clothing."

Aleida's face flashed red and her eyes watered. Remembering Petrus had only revitalized the embarrassment she felt.

"I mean in no way to offend! I meant to say, I could retrieve clothing for you."

She could not bring herself to say anything.

"Silence is consent, I suppose… M'lady, I will arrive back in a matter of minutes. Should you need protection -" He threw his shield out into the open. "- use this."

Aleida looked over to him as he dropped off the ledge by the tree. She heard, instantaneously, a body fall to the ground, and she assumed he dropped only a few feet after she heard footsteps running off. She crawled to the shield, keeping herself in a compacted stance. When she retrieved it, she raised it above her head and crawled to the tree where Petrus had been. When she sat there, she looked out over a magnificent valley that stretched several hundred feet across and fell at a direct 90 degrees below.

At the base of the chasm, seemingly miles below, a thin line of rushing white denoted a river. Where does it go, Aleida wondered. Maybe it travelled hundreds of miles more to the ocean she had crossed to arrive in Lordran. Or maybe, it found a way to reach Carim, her home. Perhaps her parents saw the same river everyday as it flowed through the countryside.

The last memory she had of home was of cooking with her mother, and noticing the darksign on her waist. Her mother frantically took her to town, where she was sedated and could remember nothing after.

She wondered what kind of relationship she must have had with her parents to have deserved such treatment; she had always been given the impression that the bond between her father and herself was unconditional. Her mother had always been cold, being the type of person that clearly regretted having a family. They had shared moments of true closeness, however: escaping to the woods to camp several times each summer. Those times had kept her family together, but now the curse of the undead had severed the connection, apparently forever.

The curse, Aleida thought, was nothing to be feared. She was no different than she had been before. She had not even started to go hollow; who was to say that she surely _would_ go hollow?

Aleida fell asleep beneath the tree, covered by the shield. If she had the awareness to realize she had let her guard down, she would never have drifted off, but she hadn't slept in quite some time.

When she woke, she nervously assumed a defensive position, worried that somebody had snuck upon her as she slept. Nobody was around however. Not even Petrus, which she found odd; he had said he would be only a few minutes, and it seemed as though she had slept for at least a couple of hours.

The wind, while warmer on the ground, was still sharp against her flesh. She carefully made her way to the bonfire, holding Petrus' shield in front of her in case anybody walked out from the ruins. Each step was deliberated and unsteady, and the feeling of grass on her bare feet was nearly foreign, as she was not used to walking barefoot. Suddenly she heard a shout behind her, and jumped to cover herself. The shield slipped out of her grip, exposing her entire front side, and Petrus stood in front of her, covering his eyes.

"How long were you there?!" Aleida screamed.

"I've been here for hours!"

"_Hours?!_" She picked up the shield and covered herself. She would have thrown it at him if it were not her only source of protection.

"No, no, you don't understand!" He turned around completely to face away from her. "Take this stuff, I found it down below."

He threw a sack behind him that hit the ground softly.

Aleida scrambled to the bag, leaving Petrus' shield behind. She tore it open and found piles of blood red cloth inside. She picked it up and arranged it to realize it was a robe, and when she could finally find the right holes, she donned it hastily. Two gloves remained in the sack, and she quickly slipped them on and warmed her hands by the bonfire.

"I am forever grateful," she said, turning to him. He peeked over his shoulder and then faced her again.

"You are to be grateful for nothing, m'lady. You needed clothing, and I was all too willing to oblige. I actually apologize for the choice; in New Londo, you are forced to take what you can get."

"These will do finely."

There was a span of silence before one of them spoke again.

"Were you watching me?"

"Ah, m'lady, I'd almost forgotten." Petrus took a seat beside Aleida at the bonfire. "You are no longer in Carim, or any place like it. You reside now in Lordran. In this ancient land, there are some very different rules as to how time functions. Each of us exists in a separate world, each of us the master of our own. Some things are different in our worlds, but mostly they remain similar. Each of them exists on a line of time that fluctuates and alters itself, and sometimes these strains of time connect for a span. That's happening now, between our worlds. Do you understand thus far?"

Aleida nodded.

"Now, when our timelines do not correspond, our worlds are severed, and we cannot make contact with one another through regular means. That's why, moments ago, I appeared behind you. I was not there the whole time -" he paused. "Truly, I was, but in my own world. I hope this makes sense…"

Aleida thought on it. The story seemed simply too convenient; what evidence was there in this man's outlandish story? It would seek to atone for him looking on at her nude body, and that left her simply uncertain.

But she could not tell him that.

"It does," she said simply.

"In order to stop something like this from happening in the future, I believe that a covenant would be of utmost importance."

"What is a 'covenant?'"

"It's a sacred oath between people that binds their worlds more closely to one another. It's especially helpful for those who intend to travel together."

Aleida gasped. "I apologize, but I have no intentions of travelling with you."

"M'lady, I think it necessary to your survival."

"I will do well without you! I know how to wield a dagger. The incident at the… _asylum_ was just a mistake."

"And on the crow?"

Aleida stopped. She was misled to believe that she could survive in Lordran without experienced help. She did not know this person, however, and she needed to place as much distance between he and herself as she could. She would find another way back to Carim.

Aleida stood and brushed off her new tattered robes. "It does not matter. I thank you for your help, and I am inclined to grant you a minor favor in return for it, but I cannot remain with you."

Petrus blinked and looked down into the bonfire. He closed his eyes and remained silent for some time.

"I understand why it is difficult for you to trust me. I'm asking you to take quite a leap of faith right now."

"I would agree."

"However," he said, reaching into his boot, "I would ask that you take something with you." He revealed a tiny wooden box from his shoe. He tapped it once with a finger, and it grew to the size of a regular treasure chest. He opened it, but the lid obscured Aleida's view. When he closed it and it shrank again, Petrus held a long, green stone in his hand. "This soapstone, m'lady."

"What is it?"

"Well, soapstones have ways of bending the rules of time in Lordran to permit connections between worlds that couldn't normally exist. The colors tell you what they do; this one, for instance, summons a phantom to come to the master's aid. If you rub it, a sign will appear wherever you are, and masters of other worlds will see that sign if they are nearby. Upon touching it, they will arrive to help you in whatever way necessary. Will you accept?"

Aleida saw no harm. "Yes."

She took the stone and placed it in one of the robe's many pockets.

"Thank you once again for the clothing and the stone. I should take my leave now, as Carim is some ways away."

Petrus looked up at her without turning his head, and looked back at the bonfire. He nodded once.

_Now I need to find some food and water,_ Aleida thought as she walked up the steps to the ruins atop which the giant crow rested.


End file.
